Travel Money

Before I embarked on my month-long European voyage, my Rabbi gave me a dollar for travel money. It was to protect me, he explained. Since I had a mission to take this dollar overseas and give it to somebody who needed it, nothing could hurt me on my way. We mused about the exchange rate. “You can add to it, if you want,” he said.

So I tucked the bill away. And I made sure I knew where it was at all times. I thought of it over on the plane. I wondered who would need it.

And finally, I got to France. I thought I would see someone right away that I could give the dollar, or a Euro to. But then I started wondering, what exactly constitutes a “need”? People who are poor obviously need money. But so does everyone else. What if the person in front of me doesn’t have enough change for the bus? Or is short one Euro for their groceries? I could be the person to say, here is a Euro for you, all the way from the States, though I wouldn’t tell them that, and I just happen to be here to give it to you. They would never know why. But not if I carelessly let it drop into a hat, to mingle with the change of so much other, just usual, everyday tzedaka.

Besides, my Rabbi had said, I needed to bring back a story. I wanted a good story. But I didn’t want to hold onto the Euro for too long.

Perhaps three days into the trip, I found him. Rounding a corner, there was a dark-haired, friendly-faced beggar on the steps of a church. S’il vous plait, Madame, s’il vous plait? I was ready. I looked in my change wallet. A two-Euro coin. And two 50-cent pieces. I looked at him. S’il vous plait? He had a dog. I liked him. Perhaps he was a painter. He was fairly young. Not even gray. I wanted to give him the 2 Euros. But I considered the exchange rate and my measly budget. I could add to it, he had said. But at my expense? Should I add that much? I took the two 50-cent pieces and dropped them into his hat. “Merci,” He said. And I walked away.

But I felt guilty. I felt cheap. That 2-Euro piece now seemed heavy in my wallet. I should have given it to him. I thought. I was holding back. I was afraid. I wasn’t living passionately. I considered the cost too much and not the ultimate return, which would be another whole Euro for him, and a great deal more satisfaction in a mission well accomplished for me.

And so I decided he would not be the only one. I was not going to throw Euros around randomly everywhere, but I would place a Euro here, a Euro there, as I felt was needed. I could fill a lot of needs. Not just one.

And so I did. But the Euro came back to me. One day, in an Internet café, I sat down to find a one-Euro piece just sitting there, on the counter. I looked around. There was no one. The man at the bar was watching sports. Who knows why it was left there, but there it was. And maybe it was stealing, but I decided it was travel money, to give to someone else. After all, I was going to Germany in a week.

So the Euro came with me, in the bottom of my bag, so that I wouldn’t spend it accidentally. And I kept it with me all through my visit with my German family. We saw the emigration museum, and they served me lots of pork, which I tried not to eat. At the end, I left the Euro at their house. But even though I was running low on travel money myself, it was OK, because my German grandparents quietly handed me a bag of candy and an envelope filled with money. I was stunned. Such a generous gift. I didn’t know how to thank them. But I went on my way.

I flew back to Paris for a few days, and then I was to meet the program I traveled with and bring the kids back to the States. Possibly I needed more than a Euro for protection. But I felt safe enough. The night before I left, I went to the cyber café down the street to check some final things. But the Internet was down. The guy didn’t know how to fix it. He apologized, said there was nothing he could do. I was going to have paid a euro for 30 minutes. On my way out, there was a Euro on the counter. But I hadn’t paid yet. “Bonne nuit,” I said. He pushed the Euro toward me. “Merci,” I said, and took it.

Back in the states, I managed to get the kids home. Then I got myself on a bus up to Boston, where I was staying with a friend. I arrived at 10:00 at night. It was raining. I was tired. I decided to take a taxi. When we got to the place, and I went to pay the fare, I looked in my wallet. I had $6, or a $20 bill. The fare was $5.85. I looked in my change purse. I wanted to give a tip. “I only have European coins,” I said. “You’re the boss,” he told me, and stood waiting. I thought about it. I didn’t want to break the 20. I knew what to do. I handed him the 5 and the 1. But then I said, “Here, have a Euro. Take it.” The one-Euro coin flashed in the streetlight. He smiled, evidently pleased. “Thank you,” he beamed. You’re welcome.

I wished him a good night, and he drove down the street.

I was home.